Out Of The Mist
by GlorytotheScourge
Summary: Skymjr the Wrathful, a powerful Chaos Champion, decides to violently cancel a negotiation session. It's up to a Witch Hunter to deliver Sigmar's justice. A little something I submitted to the Warhammer Online Lore section and decided to share here.


Skymjr the Wrathful, Champion of Chaos, Changer of Lands, Bearer of Wyrm-Breaker, commander of five hundred warriors, was bored. A bored Chaos Champion is a very dangerous thing, and tends to exist for very short periods of time, periods that are inevitably accompanied by pain for those in the vicinity. Skymjr was bored because the Elector Count on the other side of the longhouse refused to shut up.

The invasion was going well – very well, as a matter of fact. So well that a certain Elector Count had decided to defect, and with six hundred-odd Imperial soldiers at his back he had marched into Skymjr's camp and asked to join his host. Skymjr had any number of reasons not to want Southern weaklings in his host, the simplest of them being that they were just that. Southern weaklings. And he found the urge to kill rising as the Elector Count droned on and on.

"And with the recent fall of the western keep to the forces of Lothbrol, I have come to the realization that there is no way the Empire can hold Kislev. Therefore, my men and I have decided to join the winning side." The Elector Count – Skymjr had not even bothered to remember his name – gave what he clearly thought was a winning and deferential smile. It made Skymjr want to empty his stomach.

"So," said the Elector. "How shall we go about joining forces? Will you require an oath of allegiance, Lord, er … uhm…" Hilarious. The Southerner hadn't remembered his name, either. "…Skirmjer, was it?" Skymjr the Wrathful lifted his right arm. His right arm no longer existed, because many winters ago it had been joined at the elbow with Wyrm-Breaker, a great daemon-axe of Lord Tzeentch. Skymjr slammed Wyrm-Breaker into the floor with a resounding crack. "You make me sick, Southerner." He spat on the wooden floor. "P-pardon-" "Pardon you?" Skymjr smashed the axe into the floor again, carving a hole in it, and pointed it at the Elector. "PARDON YOU?!" he bellowed, showing teeth filed to points. "You march in here with your silk clothes and your polished armor and your dainty manners and oaths of allegiance…"

The Count was terrified now. He was backing towards the door and reaching for his sword. The two Greatsword warriors who had accompanied him were gripping the handles of their zweihanders. "…and seek to poison the minds of my warriors with your sniveling! I know what this is about, you Southern dog. Dassilov is here. Dassilov is here to kill you for trying to side with me. I will save him the trouble!" "Dassilov?" gasped the Elector, looking confused. "Who is-" The throwing axe split his head in two before he or either Greatsword could react. Both of them grabbed their zweihanders and rushed at the Champion. The first was intercepted, however, by an enormous armored shape that barreled into him and threw him through the wall of the longhouse with a resounding crash. Sorlvar, Chosen of Chaos bellowed, "Sons of the north! Enough of this farce! Slaughter the Southerners!"

A terrifying roar went up from outside, drowning out the clash of metal on metal as the Greatsword swung his weapon at Sorlvar. Inside the longhouse, the remaining Greatsword's zweihander whirled in a great arc, swinging at Skymjr. He sidestepped the swing and flew at the elite guard. The southerner drew back his weapon and swung it sideways. Skymjr held up Wyrm-Breaker to parry. He saw the Greatsword grin, only to gasp as the huge sword broke on Wyrm-Breaker's supernaturally keen edge. Skymjr siezed the flail hanging from his leather harness and took the Empire soldier's head off.

He stormed outside into the chaos. The Empire swordsmen and halberdiers were trying to form a defensive perimeter against the frenzied Chaos Marauders pouring in from all over the camp. Empire handgunners were reaping a heavy toll on the lightly armored Northmen. That would have to change. Letting out a terrible war cry, Skymjr charged forward into the fight. Bullets whistled past him, but no mere man could kill a warrior like him. There were other Marauders beside him, and a Zealot, too, screeching obscene prayers at the top of his lungs. He came on the first Empire swordsman and leapt into the air to make a deadly downward cut. The swordsman lifted his shield to block and drew back his sword.

Wyrm-Breaker cut through the shield and split the soldier from nose to groin. Skymjr swung the flail and let it loose and it caved in the chest of another swordsman. The Marauders next to Skymjr stepped into the breach, cutting down more Empire soldiers. Cackling and insane with murderous joy, Skymjr laid about him. Nothing could stand in the way of Wyrm-Breaker, and nothing could stand in the way of Skymjr the Wrathful, and nothing could stand in the way of Chaos.

Skymjr cut the head from a halberdier and saw Sorlvar and the Greatsword tumble into view. The Greatsword was spinning his weapon in an intricate pattern, clashing into the Chosen's greataxe. Without warning the Greatsword altered his stance and swung the zweihander underhand. The sword skidded off Sorlvar's weapon and cut a deep groove that wept purple blood up the Chosen's arm.

Sorlvar's shoulder plate blinked. The Greatsword gasped and backed off. The Chosen's right pauldron had become an eye, a wicked, Tzeentchian eye, which was now glowing brightly and crackling. The brackish red energy spread down Sorlvar's arm and encompassed his weapon. Letting out a maniacal cackle that echoed disturbingly inside his helm, Sorlvar charged, swinging his greataxe sideways. The Greatsword lifted up his weapon to parry and caught the axe solidly – and the zweihander exploded. The shards of the destroyed weapon lacerated the Empire warrior and tore him apart. Sorlvar roared and planted his axe-head in the corpse.

Skymjr grinned and raised his voice. "They are no match, sons of the North!" he roared. "Kill them and spill their insides on the ground!" He let the flail fly and broke the shield from another swordsman. A Marauder ran up and ripped his stomach open with a saxe. Skymjr stalked through the carnage, finishing any corpses that moved. He was looking for one Southern dog and one only. "Dassilov!" the Champion bellowed. "Where are you, you piece of Empire filth?"

A figure appeared out of the mist at the edges of the slaughter, a figure in a wide-brimmed hat and a long coat. "Right here." Said the Witch Hunter. He pulled back the slide on his pistol. "No further, Skymjr. Sigmar's holy justice ends you today." Skymjr laugh. "I spit on Sigmar! We will murder Sigmar and use his bones as tooth-picks and cart-axles! And I will start here with you!" Skymjr bellowed, and picking up his flail he charged at the Witch Hunter.

Alexo Dassilov was a bright young man, a rising star in the forces of the Inquisition. He took one look at the Chaos Champion barreling at him, looked at his light armor and his daemon-warped arm, and deduced what thousands of Imperial soldiers and warrior priests had failed to think of.

The pistol banged. Skymjr slowed, stumbling, and halted. It felt like his soul had just been violently ripped from his body by an enraged daemonhound. He saw Wyrm-Breaker. Surely he could never falter if Wyrm-Breaker was with him. He looked at Dassilov, who was now putting away the smoking pistol and drawing a long-bladed dagger. He looked back at Wyrm-Breaker. And then the thought filtered into Skymjr's brain. Wyrm-Breaker was no longer with him, because the Witch Hunter's blessed bullet had removed his right arm. Struggling to process this information, he was slow in bringing up his flail. Dassilov ducked under the swing of the heavy ball and chain, letting it knock off his hat, and swinging the dagger up he cut the ball away. As Skymjr fumbled, trying to find another weapon, Dassilov kicked him in the ribs, siezed the loose chain with his free hand, and pulled Skymjr onto the dagger.

Dassilov hit Skymjr in the face with the hilt of the dagger and threw him onto his back. "Spilled your insides on the ground." Dassilov murmured, holding up a torch which he brought to life with a splash of holy oil. He threw the torch onto Wyrm-Breaker, and a terrible wail went up across the burning camp as the holy flames consumed the daemon-axe. He drew a cartridge from his bandolier and reloaded his pistol. "In the name of Sigmar, of the Emperor, may he have long life, and of the Holy Inquisition, I deliver Sigmar's judgment."

He shot Skymjr through the head.


End file.
